Aim For The Sky
by AlFlowerrise
Summary: No silly, aim for the stars. — BlackSkyla.
1. Chapter 1

NA: Man, I think I have the thing to write unusual pairings. But it's so fun, I can't stop. This will be in three parts I believe and I will write the rest next week. I hope you like it and tell me what you think! :) I don't own pokémon though.

* * *

><p><strong>Aim for the sky?<strong>

No, silly, aim for the stars!

BlackSkyla

—I—

His cheeks flush red the first time he spots Skyla and that's because of many things; because of the daring clothes she wears and because of the bright smile that can shine through thick fog she has and those light-blue eyes reminding him of White's eyes. Reminds but not quite, there's something different about them. He doesn't see White this way.

It takes a while for him to understand that she actually speaks to him, and he is too occupied with staring at her chest to follow her conversation threads. At times he realizes this the blood starts to boil under his suntanned skin, snake under the skin and paint his face with that deep red color he seems to possess in loads in the wrong timing.

Sometimes he wishes he could just die. He can never compare himself to White, who is bright and colorful and can laugh about anything. She turns her problems into solvable equations, he turns them into stones he cannot push. She is beautiful and he is as interesting as a plate with moss, she is strong and he is weak and…

The girl with the daring clothes and bright smile and light-blue eyes pushes his train of thought off the rail and punches him lightly on the right shoulder, waking him up from his dream world that is more a custom than a need nowadays. "Hey, I'm talking to you! I demand an answer."

"Sorry," Black says awkwardly—everything about his relationships with girls is awkward—and tries (fails) to look her in the eyes. "What did you say?"

"That you are the most beautiful man I have ever seen," she says and he stares in shook because really; does she need contact lenses? The next thing she says though shoves him back to the reality. What else did he expect? "I'm joking! Not that you're not beautiful but that's not what you are looking for, is it?"

_Looking for what_? he wants to ask but doesn't—he knows better than to put his nose where it doesn't belong and he has spoken too long with Skyla already. "Um…"

She laughs. She has a pretty laugh, it's loud and clear and cuts through silence like a knife in a pleasant, extraordinary way.

What's with his stupid poetic compliments anyway? He sounds like a boy with a broken heart which he isn't—sometimes he wonders if he even has a heart to break to begin with.

Apparently he has.

"Am I making your nervous?" she wants to know and he can hear the amused undertone in her voice—she likes doing this. It isn't the first time.

He shakes his head and his brown bangs dances in front of his eyes. He has to get back to the reality now. "N-No. Excuse me but I would like to have a battle with the gym-leader."

"With me then!" she smiles and blinks with one of her eyes, taking a step back and analyzes him from head to toe. "That's great! I look forward to it!"

Her enthusiasm doesn't infect him, he is too deep in the hole already. This is ridiculous and he knows it as well; he has no reason to react like this. He has met good-looking girls before—yes, Skyla _is _good-looking—and it has been nothing like this. Elesa from Nimbasa City is stunning, a shining star but he still managed to keep the distance, keep himself _safe_ but he doesn't now. Why? Just why?

Maybe he only thinks too much. That's a habit he has. Thinking.

"Do you have time now?" he asks politely and shoves his hands in his pockets, clenching his teeth together and awaits her next move.

She wires one of her magenta-colored strands of hair around her gloved finger, smiling a half-smile. "Sorry, there is something I need to take care of first. I need to check the Celestial Tower, I think there is a sick pokémon on the top and I can't just leave it there! You understand. But after that! Oh, and you can tag along if you want." She blinks again before she walks away, becomes one with the wood's green patches and bright tree-trunks.

Sick pokémon huh? That's exactly one thing a gym-leader would do, put everything aside to be one with their friends. He shakes his head again, that reminds too much of N, whom he still does not understand.

Team Plasma is more important than sulking after someone he doesn't even know. After the battle they will probably never speak again. He is one challenger of many and will melt into the wall—only the ones with strong personalities manage to stand out and become important.

Like White.

—I—

An hour later he finds himself standing on top of Celestial Tower, with the view reaching long and far, the heaven painted in red and orange as the sun descends. And she is there too, of course, shining more brightly than the sun, looking at the large bell in marble and snaky patterns.

Oh, God, did he just think that?

"Well! It seems like everything is alright here! But oh, there is something I want to tell you. Do you see this bell?" He can't help but to roll his eyes at that comment and she snickers, continues. "The sounds from it soothe the spirits of pokémon. But that's only one part of the cake, the sound also changes depending of which person that tolls it."

Where is she going with this? He is far too down-to-earth to believe in things that don't linger here, maybe that's why he doesn't understand that she wants him to actually toll the bell.

Or maybe he is just too stupid to grab the vines she throws at him. Probably closer to the truth.

"I don't want to toll the bell," he says with his voice low and uncharacteristically rude. He doesn't even know why he declines, probably because he doesn't want her to judge him.

"Don't be shy now!" she chimes just like the bell before her and grabs his shoulder from behind, pushing him forward. The touch is raw, for a girl, and somehow—but he will never admit it to anyone—it's soothing, it reminds him of White.

"Skyla, this is—"

"This is a memento from your trip," she says and the wind catches her hair, making it fly forward, catching his eyes. "Geez, Black, you need to loosen up! I think you need this battle, I can make you soar like a bird. Toll now."

He does.

The sound echoes in his ears, sending frostbites down his spine, down to his feet.

She only smiles behind him and doesn't remove her hands from his shoulders.

—I—

When the sky is pith-black and the stars start to hover there, dotting themselves together to castellation they have the battle inside Skyla's gym of air-cannons and blue wallpaper.

He loses hard.

The smile never leaves on her face but it does on his. Isn't he stronger than this? Shouldn't his strategies reach from his lips to the sky and not end there, in front of him, transparent nothings?

She jumps down from the platform and starts walking to him, recalling her Swanna as she does. He looks at her, _looks_ and drinks in her appearance. He can't tell if she is cute or beautiful or both.

Maybe that is why he lost the battle? He doesn't want to think that way, no, it was his strategy, it was his failed training but he can't help but to think that his distracted mind shoved him down the hole to failure and he could only get up after the battle.

"That was a nice battle!" she says and rubs her right leg with her boot. "You have a nice style."

Black doesn't know how he should react to her compliments because she looks like one that gives them to everyone, even if they have as much talent on the battlefield as a rock. He corrects his cap and nods, words failing to paint his emotions as usual. He tries. "Yeah. Thanks. I-I think I will have to try later."

"Aw, don't be sad," she says and flinches him, not by doing anything but to the warm tone in her voice. "You will beat me. One day you will."

He nods again and tastes her words. Maybe. Only time would tell.

If time was that friendly of course.

—I—

He walks through the automatic doors made in glass and is allowed to take three steps before someone tugs on his right arm and stops his tracks, before spinning him around until they meet eye to eye.

Does he really have to tell you who that was? Irony likes to play with him today.

If this was irony, how could he know?

"Before you go," Skyla says, "I want to show you something."

He ponders her statement. 'Something' is probably a helicopter, or airplane or something similar since she seems interested in things in that department but he finds himself wrong—which, he learns, he often is in her presence—and later stands in front of a café with the uncreative name "Sky high", which seems to be open even on nights.

"Is this what you want to show me?" he asks and can't hide the wondering tone. She takes one step forward and gives him the chance to gaze at her from behind and he wonders why that outfit, that really should be too much, fits so well on her.

"Yes!" she exclaims and she turns around, pointing at the entrance. "Do you want to join me?"

His face burns again. Does she usually hang out with her challengers? Somehow he doubts. "Um, maybe I should head back to the center…"

"Not yet!" she pleads and clings to his arm, so close he can feel her skin, still warm even in this sinking temperature. "Besides, you need dinner. I can pay!"

"That's not necessary…"

She blinks and drags him to the entrance. "C'mon. Not many are given the honor to eat dinner with a gym-leader after all!"

The truth in her comment makes him mute and she uses the opportunity to pull him inside the café.

All he sees is red, as the wallpapers are in a deep red color and the floor in the same, and even the cloths on the tables are red. It's a nice café, small and cramped with the cozy feelings those things invite.

"This people like red," he states and gets rewarded with a soft giggle.

"Do you really mean that, Captain Obvious?" she grins.

Yes, he did mean that.

—I—

It takes a long time for Black to get comfortable with new surroundings and this is not an exception, but as the clock on his watch moves along and the flame from the candle makes his face warm he finds himself slowly regaining his posture and the words starts dripping from his mouth.

It's interesting really, that Skyla makes him like this, as he doesn't trust many people enough in this world to actually _talk _to them and not turning the conversation to an end. He wants it to continue.

He wants to hear her laugh, it's a chilling sound. Like the bell.

"Oh, man, I so remember the first time my dad took me on a flight," she tells him and circles her fingers around the fork, digging its teeth into a tomato. "It was awesome! I mean, I have always been interested in planes and such but being in there, seeing the ground from afar, it was terrific. Have you ridden a plane or helicopter before?"

He shakes his head and takes one sip from the coca-cola, sipping up the foam on the edges. Truth to be told he is afraid of heights but that's something he doesn't want to admit yet.

"Tell me something about yourself," she demands and leans closer, dropping the fork on the plate again and looks at him with those big, round eyes.

He places the glass in front of the table again, fumbles with the cloth between his fingers. "What do you want to know?"

"Now you are getting nervous again," she smiles and tilts her head, the candle reflecting in her eyes. "Why?"

He is lucky that it is so dark in the room she can't see his blush. He clears his throat and drops the cloth. "Well, I have a friend. Her name is White."

"Wait a minute. I think I remember a girl passing by with that name. Long brown hair and short pants right?"

He nods. That's probably her.

"She is so pretty," she says. "I want her hair."

"Your hair is fine, Skyla," he says before he can stop himself and now he knows he has placed his foot too deep in the mud to escape. Why did he say that? He is no charmer, he can't say such things to melt the ice, when he does it's too late to take them back and consider what they could mean to others.

To her. To Skyla.

"Why, thank you! But tell me more about White. You are friends, you say?"

"Yes. But also rivals. We share the same goal, to become great trainers but there is still something that tears us apart, dream-wise."

She places her chin on the back of her hands, lets her eyes narrow slightly, eyelashes thick and black shade her cheeks. "What is it?"

He shudders. "I don't really know but I think that she is much more enthusiastic about this than I am. It… It's pathetic I know but I love pokémon in a different way than she does, I want to take care of them, travel with them, but battling, I don't know, it just happens."

"Huh? You don't like battles? That's surprising, since you are really good at it!"

Does she like to color his cheeks blood-red? It seems like it.

"No, no, I like battles, I do but not like White. Actually I'm rather surprise I've gotten this far. Five badges isn't too bad."

"No, it isn't. But you still want to complete the eight-badge run?"

"Yes."

Her smile gets a little wider, lips red from the sauce, it clashes with her blue outfit. "Guess you are stuck here with me then."

"I guess…"

He should ask her though. He needs to know. He needs to know if this is just a game, if he is just average. Somehow he knows he should be but still doesn't want. "Why are you so nice to me?"

It is an embarrassing question but she takes it well, like she takes everything well. Does she have negative personality traits, despite her naiveness and ability to walk through closed doors? "Dunno. I like you?"

"That is not logical, you don't know me."

"I do now." She spins around the straw in her glass of Fanta, her nails light-blue like the rest of her. "I guess I'm open to new people. I like to talk to them! It's interesting and you can learn new things. But you aren't like me in that apartment are you?"

"Not really," he murmurs and looks down, drowns in the black liquid of his drink.

"I had to ask, you can never judge a book by its cover." She blinks. "Well, you _shouldn't _anyway."

He says nothing. He doesn't need to. She can talk for two. That's something admirable, even with his limited support she can keep the conversation about the surface fine by herself. How does she do that? He fails when it comes to such things.

"Do you have plans for tomorrow?" she wants to know when the waiter finally drops the bill on their table, sounding completely innocent. "If not there is something I want to show you."

She pulls out money from her pockets and places it upon the red cloth. It still doesn't feel right but what can he do? She will never listen to him. "Um, not really. Why not? Thank you Skyla."

"My, you don't have to thank for anything. Before you go, though, there is something I want to tell you. Where do you aim? In general I mean?"

He narrows his brown eyes, surprised by the question and fully aware that she is going somewhere with it. Where does a girl that wants to be a pilot aim?

It can't be that easy, can it? "To the sky?"

She shakes her head and the hair dances with her moments. "That's not high enough, you know. See you tomorrow!"

He swallows. Nods. "Tomorrow."

—I—

to be continued


	2. Chapter 2

NA: Second chapter. Sorry it took so long, I got writer's block and I feel bad when my stories lose quality :/ I don't own pokémon and please tell me about my mistakes so I can fix them!

* * *

><p>[2]<p>

—I—

He rolls around in the bed, burrows his face in the cold material of a pink pillow, twists and turns and can't find the treasure that grants him sleep. He can't sleep and somehow he knows why and the reason is nothing smaller than _everything_.

Everything about this day, from how it started and how it ended, is everything he can't handle. He is not used to this, used to open his hard shell and let someone in, nevertheless a girl he doesn't even know. It leaves him confused and he doesn't like to be confused—he wants to understand, to be in the front line but he isn't now.

He is lost. Thanks to Skyla. But he still can't blame her—she is like this—and therefore he has to blame himself.

No. Stupid thoughts that swarm around in his head like bees, tugging and gnawing and eating his sanity to thin fragments. Why can't they leave him alone? What has he done to deserve this?

Probably nothing. That is his life in a nutshell—he does nothing and receives nothing and when he finally does he blames bad luck instead of greeting the change with a handshake. That's not him.

If only he hadn't lost the battle with her, then he would have left this city yesterday. But he lost, he put his pokémon to shame and now he has to deal with the consequences. If he can put Skyla as a consequence, which he isn't entirely sure that he could.

He throws his head in the mountain of pillows and curses his inability to be content with life. He is not content with money and he is not content with fame.

He is not even content with himself.

—I—

His alarm clock tolls at eight and he yawns, stretches out his arms up to the ceiling, to the air. Black has never been the one to wake up early but he has come to understand that over-sleeping doesn't bring him out of the bubble of weariness that makes it impossible for him to take the day without any complaints.

Still in his pajamas he pulls out the blood-red curtains and watches the garden outside, with its swings and muddy puddles that children seem to like and tilts his head up to notice a gray sky with thick clouds eating up the sun's rays and submerges the plain in a dull color of nothingness.

Black likes this weather. It gives him a reason to stay inside. Not that he can today.

Why does that makes him cheeks warm? He doesn't even know her and he probably never will and she only does this because she feels sorry for him about his failure at the gym.

But that doesn't explain why there has to be one million trainers that lose against her and that he doesn't think she pays dinner for each one of them.

Maybe he should just get dressed and stop thinking. But Black has a impressing talent when it comes to getting snared in his own imbecile thoughts.

With his wrinkled clothes on he reaches for the cap and walks down the stairs to the breakfast.

—|—

When Black is nervous—which he often is—the food seems to grow in his mouth and gets almost impossible to swallow and this morning is no exception.

It was still different yesterday though, because he grew (somewhat) fond of her when he was in her presence, when he let her speech and laughter and smiles lull him, comfort him but know now it is almost like he has to get to know her again. Of course, she is social and she is kind, it can't be that difficult but he knows that he is difficult.

He puts his spoon in the milk and spins around, the flakes sinks and turns into a icky goop. He pushes the bowl away and tries the sandwich with cheese instead.

What will she do to him?

He doesn't like when he doesn't know.

Maybe that is an excuse to get new friends, because neither of them seem to understand this. Bianca surprises him everyday and toys her friendship—and maybe his too—with Cheren with more intense feelings Cheren doesn't know how to handle and even though Black cannot deny that Bianca and Cheren somehow suit together—he knows that love is something that can cut the bond and make them slip away and never come back.

He knows he sounds boring and lingers to the past too much but the past is something he knows and like he stated before he doesn't like surprises.

And White—kind but reckless White—is the definition of surprises in general.

She would die of delight if she heard about him and Skyla.

He swallows the lump of bread, pushes it down with juice and rises up from the chair, forcing his shoes—or feet rather—to the exit, to the cold air, (to her.)

—|—

"Um, hi," he murmurs in her direction and she answers him with a tight hug, so tight that he leaps slightly back in surprise and feels her breasts in his face.

He feels like he is melting to a puddle, slipping through her arms and transforms to a pile of ash. Why doesn't it exist a law against unwilling hugging? Black should maybe suggest that to Unova's government, whoever those are.

"You know, Black, hugs are good for you," she chimes and releases him from her death grip, watching him with genuine interest. "Have you heard this—small children that don't get physical contact die."

He fumbles with the cap and refuses to meet her eyes. He has problems when he feels akward and when he feels akward he just wants to go home. Like now. And the day hasn't even started yet, how wrong does that sound?

Skyla smiles again and he remembers the smile from yesterday, but it is still not the same, it cannot feel the same if he is hidden inside the thick soap bubble like he is right now.

Since when did everything turn so wrong? He wants to know but he doesn't. And no one can ever tell him.

Guessing is the leach dragging him forward, it's too bad it often makes him fall over the edge.

"Did you sleep well?" she asks, breaking the silence again—he can almost hear the pieces falling to the ground, ending there.

"I guess," he says, inching the back of his head. Awkward. And it is his fault. "Is there… is there anything you would like to show me today?"

"Of course it is! Don't think I don't have creativity. There is something in this city that you cannot miss."

Of course, he has no idea where she is going. That is probably for the better, since now at least they are heading somewhere.

That 'somewhere' is a shopping centre.

Not exactly what he has in mind.

Black is a person that feels comfortable in a pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a jacket—and his cap—and trying to update his wardrobe into something more in the hotspot isn't exactly anything he is too fond off. That is why this doesn't entertain him and probably all those seven million times he follows White and watches her turn herself into a pretty cake in fluffy dresses and gets reminded that they make have the same bland name but she is far more colorful than he can ever wish to become makes it even worse. It is like White has a bucked with paint with her and he has nothing.

Skyla doesn't exactly look like a girl that spends her hours inside shops and pulling clothes along the rail—no, it rather looks like the opposite, a girl that likes to put her boots in mud. But since he doesn't know how to read people—not even a open-minded one like Bianca—he is rather used to the fact that he is often wrong.

"So, Black, do you like shopping?"

He shrugs and tucks his cold hands in his pockets. "Do I look like someone that enjoys this?" he says, a desperate and idle attempt of lightening the mood but he sounds like someone that talks about natural disasters.

"Not really," she agrees and folds her arms, looking around the enormous center that reaches high up in the sky—something for Skyla—and is crowded with people that probably haven't anything more important to do with their free-time. "But I can tell you that we are here for a reason and that reason is hidden in there!" she continues, pointing at a shop filled with clothes.

"Please, Skyla, I—" he starts but has no chance to continue the beg as she grabs one of his hands and drags him inside, determinate and dominant.

It feels like the plastic mannequins and gigantic pink dresses are going to eat him. It surrounds him. Far back in the shop he hears voices that discuss if one dress is too big for one woman and another answers that it is rather too _small _for the previous mentioned woman. What is this? What is the meaning of this? He doesn't belong in here with all the fabric dusting his nose. What can Skyla want from her that has to do with him?

It doesn't take long for him to get the answer for that question.

"I have this idea," she starts, smiling at a dress that really would not fit on her. Not that she doesn't look like the dress-type, it is more that the dress doesn't fit on anyone. "That we should go swimming. You have probably only seen mud right now but I can tell you that we have one of the greatest ocean farther down the city."

He clips with his dry eyes, uncertain if he'd right. "Swimming?"

"Yes! That is so fun! But I don't think you have your swimsuit with you."

"Ehm, no."

"Great, that is why we are getting new ones."

Oh, so that is where she is heading.

Wait, does that mean that he has to wear bathing trunks in her presence. Oh, God no.

His face is now set on fire, literally. She seems to find that funny.

"You are too easy to tease!" she laughs and gently guides him deeper in the shop, the mountain of clothes he has to willing to pay for. "Still, I was serious, you have to buy one."

"I don't see the point," he says, which is a rather uncharacteristic comment coming from him as even though he is rather—or very—shy he is still gentle, but with her he sounds like an annoyed three-years-old.

Maybe that's because he is, minus the three-years-old part.

"C'mon," she pleads, battling with her long, mascara-tainted eyelashes. "For me?"

Okay, he knows one thing now and that is when she uses the puppy-look it's damn successful.

He isn't too fond of that.

And with Skyla's clothing style—or, ehm, rather the lack of it—in the equation he knows this isn't going to end well for either of them.

She reaches for the trunks hanging high of in the walls and hangs them in front of him, narrowing her eyes and nudges on her thumb in the thinking process. Black doesn't help the slightest, more from his "um" and "yes" that only lightens how much he despites this.

"You are one tough nut to crack," she murmurs and then looks like a light-bulb has appeared in her head, as she smiles widely and pokes him on the right shoulders.

"How about that one?" she asks and points at one special piece of trunks, which doesn't look like more than a red gee-string that covers so much he can just walk around naked instead and the results would have been the same.

He burns—from embarrassment—inside, it foams up inside him, nudging at the edges, making him burst.

He cannot handle this any longer.

"Skyla, I-I-I don't find this funny and—"

"Geez, you have to learn that it is extremely funny to toy around with you with reactions like that," she tells him and places one hand on a white hanger.

He swallows, tries to explain, which is odd since usually no one can understand him even with the key to the test, not even his so called friends.

Is Skyla an exception?

He wants her to be.

"Black, I'm sorry if I'm pushing this too far," she says and her smile flattens, lips slightly separated and almost too pretty for a weakling like him to resist.

Maybe he doesn't want to kiss her, hold her or even touch her but he cannot deny that he would chose her if he had to chose anyone.

She ignores his flaws in a way that almost makes his eyes fill with tears—and he can't say that he is the sappiest person around either.

"No, it's okay, Skyla, it's just that…" His words die when he notices her bring down a piece of green trunks from a shelf, showing them in his hands.

"Well, you gave me green light and you cannot start the book from the beginning again," she says and blinks with her right eye.

He almost falls through the floor. She wins. Again.

—|—

A little later—times seems to be impossible to read right now—Black finds himself standing on a empty beach with sharp pebbles that seem to enjoy digging through his flesh and a ocean so clear he can spot the ground of it. It is a pretty place, he has to admit, but it is nothing like those packed beaches with hot guys on surfboards White seems to like—it is almost like a place you want to sit down and let your thoughts wander, form themselves without force.

Not that he thinks Skyla has plans to meditate with him.

They are already in their swimming clothes—they changed at one public toilet not far from this place—and it takes approximately about two seconds for her to drop her blue towel in the sand and run down the sand to the water in her extremely, abnormally, cruelly small, light-blue bikini, soaking herself in the—he guesses—cold water. She laughs when her face breaks free from the water, waving at him and sparkling with her eyes.

"Don't just stand there, come here!"

It's not like he has any choice here, is it?

With his remarkable—and pathetic—shyness he lets the white towel slide down his body until it reaches the ground. The air is cold, fiercely biting into his vulnerable skin, digging through like nails and he reasons with himself—which takes an eternity in Skyla's eyes—before he realizes it's probably warmer in the water.

He finds out that he is wrong.

The water freezes him to death, almost.

Black isn't the swimming type but even he cannot say no to a warm hot-tub with a glass of coca-cola and a slice of lemon in hands but this is a little different and he wishes he could be in a warm bed instead.

It doesn't get better when Skyla finds it funny to squirt water in his face just to see his reactions.

"It feels warmer if you move around," she tells him and swims around him in a circle like a shark. Some meters away her newly released Swanna dives in her lonesome, completely unaware that her master troubles a stranger to death.

Maybe Swanna is used to this.

"I-I-I've heard that it feels warmer if you stand still too," he says through chattering teeth, crossing his arms tightly trying to regain some warmth.

"I have tried that too many times and it doesn't work for me," she shrugs and swims closer, so close that Black feels his face heat up again, in the cold water and all.

"Um, Skyla, do you, um, have to be so close?" he asks, backing away, feet almost get swallowed by icky, green threads.

"What's wrong, Black, you were so comfortable yesterday?"

"I still d-d-don't know why you're doing this?"

She tilts her head and that wonderfully colored hair floats on the surface like thin snakes. "Do you really have to know?"

How is he supposed to answer that?

She places herself on her back, floating away, closing her eyes, eyelashes thick and glued to each other. "I know that this behavior scares away people," she starts and now rests her feet on the ground, probably on her toes as she is now taller than him, "but at the same time, people are different and I am like this. But it isn't just about that, that I talk to strangers in general—I see you as Black and not anyone that will disappear when you beat me in a battle."

Can she read minds? With this speech she has colored the dilemma he couldn't push away and now brought it above the surface.

With that said it is only one thing left for him to ponder—does she mean this?

But what will she gain from lying? She doesn't look like anyone that lies to gain friends. And more importantly, why would she try befriend him—the most boring person on Earth—if she doesn't find anything interesting about him?

It doesn't make any sense. And most things do make sense, actually.

"It is hard to understand," he admits and now the water feels warmer—he doesn't freeze anymore. Maybe it is like yesterday, the only difference is the environment.

Skyla is more complicated than White, Cheren and Bianca together.

It is hard to think.

"You don't have to understand, you know," she says and smiles sadly, tipping on toes to him until they are too close again. "Can I try something?"

He gulps and nods. "What is it?"

She doesn't answer, instead she snakes her arms around his neck, although not in a romantic sense—if he wished that—but in an attempts to use him as a rock.

It doesn't work too well, he thinks, as the ground isn't exactly solid.

She isn't heavy but she isn't still either, she laughs—he fails to understand at what—and splashes like a fish on dry land and her laugh almost makes him laugh as well and when Black laughs he doesn't know what he is doing.

He isn't now anyway.

He slips backwards and his head is suddenly under water—he breathes in the salty water which isn't really the same as air and he chokes, tries to push her away but she doesn't let him.

She finds this funny.

"S-S-Skyla," he manages through quick gulps of air. "Do you want to kill me?"

"No," she says honestly and snuggles her face close to his cheek. "I just use this as an excuse to be close to you."

He spits out transparent water through his lips. "Is that really true?"

She sticks out her tongue. "What do _you _think?"

—|—

to be continued

(ah, yes, what do Black think?)


	3. Chapter 3

NA: This is not the last chapter! There will be one more.

* * *

><p>[3]<p>

—I—

There comes a time in life when there is only one thing to say.

Too bad it comes too quickly sometimes, or uninvited, when something—someone—has melted you enough to feel, to relax, to be, that you don't want it to end.

For Black, today is that day. He should welcome it but he doesn't. He worked for it but doesn't want it now. He has the badge in his casket but it only tells him that he has trained so hard to get the badge to leave the city and therefore leave her.

He doesn't want to leave her, he just doesn't. She is something to him and he doesn't know if she will if he leaves. But what can he do? He cannot end his journey, not now, there is still discoveries hidden under the sand for him to dig up. This is only the beginning, there is still more. He told his friends to reach as far up as he could and he can reach farther than six badges.

But it still means he has to leave her. Leave Skyla. It feels horrible, like something is reeking in his stomach, soon boiling up like cooking oil, taking over.

How did it come to this? What did he do? What did she do?

He knows the answer now; nothing. It just happened. Like everything happens. It came and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

He has to deal with the consequences now and he will.

—I—

She has showed him everything the city has. She has taken him on daily strolls around town and told him about ancient stories that turn the pages before Black's parents and grandparents to a time that doesn't exist anymore but still affects the now. There has been walks up and down, to left to right and even though Black isn't much for nature in general—he prefers the indoors where nothing foreign can happen—he found himself growing more and more content with nature, and of course with her.

The environment gnawed on his shoes to bits and she forced him to buy new ones, which he did and he loves his new, black sneakers that fit so well with his name. Everything Skyla comes up with him tipped with humor and caring and she puts so much energy into everything that it's not strange that she affects him as well. Her energy enhances his own and it almost makes him smile despite there is nothing to smile about in this situation.

Even his memories with her are better than a past without her. However the memories hurt, they tell him about a past that may not return and no memories mean that there is nothing to lose.

This time, though, he wants to feel. Something has changed and it has changed to the better. Before he hid himself instead of facing truth, facing dangers and facing reality and he doesn't want to be the transparent ghost anymore. He has for seventeen years, it is enough now.

She makes him normal. Or perhaps not normal, as it is not possible for a single person to reach those terms—it is more that she gives him a chance to see the world from a whole new perspective, like it can be, if you don't close your eyes for it. Most important of all, if you don't take risks you won't get stronger, if you don't make mistakes you won't learn from them and since Black's life is a complete opposite of this is it impossible for him to understand Skyla's ways.

That doesn't mean they don't interest him, because they do. She does and while one part of his shattered mind thinks it is absolute madness to feel this way about someone he doesn't even fully know, the other parts welcome the chance to actually understand that you don't get farther than you walk. You won't.

And now, he is empty. Empty like a shell, with nothing to fill it with. He knows the reasons for this—they are so obvious, written in the stars that it is an impossibility to ignore—and one of the biggest is the fact that he doesn't have any clear goals to use as a ventilator to let his emotions pour away instead of creating distaste inside him. While he is rather talented in the game of pokémon, it is not his life, it is not something that makes him move forward. Such goals don't exist, still he wishes them to. He needs them but they don't need him. They won't arrive in his postbox, he has to search for them.

That's something Skyla wants him to do. She has in her own way told him that his way of seeing the world is, maybe not wrong, but green. He hides instead of fights and only listens to the sound of life's clock moving faster and faster while he accomplishes nothing. He cannot have that anymore. No.

And the first stop on the countdown was the time when Black's Dewott released a blob of water and sent Skyla's last pokémon to the ground, winning what he came here for, losing what he did not.

He won the battle and gained the badge of Mistraton.

He lost everything else.

—I—

Black sits outside the pokémon centre, with one pokéball on the wooded table, restlessly pushing it around to make the time pass away, away to when the inevitable happens and he runs away instead of facing its true difficulty. He doesn't know what to feel, what to do—it has become too strong, too complicated, too foreign. It is only one thing left—the thing he detests the most.

Black may be naïve but he isn't naïve about this—he knows what good-byes are and no matter how cheerfully she will tell him that they will meet again he knows it is a lie. People come and they go, it is that simple. She is stuck here and he is not. Time will pass and time can cut even the steadiest bond in two.

It is the first time, he reasons—pushes the ball harder, it falls down the table, down to the grass which is still sparkling with morning dew—that he is the one to leave though. He doesn't know what to think about that.

Maybe for what it is, a complete runaway.

But still, he can't remain here. He has his journey and Skyla wouldn't accept that he quits it because of her.

He is not a White, he can't ignore opinions that differ from his own. He can't tell himself that he is right, it is impossible.

The warm wind gently strokes him in the face, plays through brown bangs and he finds this like irony's way of toying with him. It is the warmest day since his arrival and of course it is—this is the last day he will be here and he has not even told her about his future plans.

How can he be so blunt about it? This is wrong, this is so wrong. He can't do this.

He lets his forehead meet the cold material of the table and wonders if the gravel surrounding his table could open and reveal a hole for him to fall through, to the world of nothing, to the world where none of this has happened.

Runaway. Before it was denial. Now it is complete runaway.

The truth is sharp, like an edge of a knife, carving through him. It almost—almost—makes him cry.

He doesn't know why. Or maybe he does.

—I—

Two hours later it feels a little bit better. A slight indication of what this is going to become, but Black can welcome that right now. It is better than emotions swimming around in his stomach with no way out.

Bianca has called him through the Xtransceiver for about an hour ago and told her about her progress—which in all honestly is not much, she told him—and asked him to meet up with her tomorrow further up the road to continue their journey together and catch up to both's improvements and efforts.

He didn't help much to bring the conversation above the surface but with Bianca it was okay—she can do it herself. Maybe that's why she gets along so well with White—the two can fight with chatter, something that isn't natural for him and it increases the distance no one wants to mention.

Bianca's offer gives him a reason to go on, though, and that's a pleasant welcome in the hours of ensnaring himself within his own thoughts. Black swallows the last chew of his late lunch and ponders if he shall ask for another bottle of water from the waiter when he suddenly feels a sharp finger on his back, making him drop the fork on the plate in surprise.

Black turns around, meeting a warm smile he certainly has not forget, but wants to forget. Or something, he doesn't even know anymore.

How long has it been? he wonders but doesn't even remember. Time has passed without him, that's the only thing he needs to know.

"Um, hi," he says and blinks, once, before looking again.

"Hi," she says back but nothing more. It is his time. He can't depend on her.

It makes his heart jump and collar become sticky against his flushed skin. "How are you?"

Pathetic, Black. That is not even close to the point right now.

She still takes the question and forms an answer for it, in the same time as she is walking to the other end of the square-shaped table, boots echoing through the parquet floor in the restaurant. "Fine, I guess. It is a wonderful day. How do you feel, today, Black? Happy with the badge?"

For some reason, the word 'badge' makes the tornado rise inside him and wash away his sanity. He does not know if he can tell her that though. Isn't that going a little too far? It probably is.

"Well," he murmurs and plays with the fork over the white plate, creating irritating sounds with the teeth, "yeah. In some way." The continue is of course there, but it is so hard to say it. Why can't he say it? Is it too embarrassing?

"That's great. I'm proud of you. Not that I didn't think you would do it eventually. Your skills are bright, I hope you know that."

With blood in his face he moves a hand through his hair. "Skyla, you don't have t-t-to tell me such things."

She sparkles with her eyes and clicks with her fingers to gain access to his full attention. "Maybe I want to tell you. Have you thought about that? Well, anyway. There's another issue at hand. You are gonna leave tomorrow, right?"

He nods while the shame almost pushes him through the ground with massive fingers. "Yeah, I will."

"And you didn't feel like telling me?" she asks, although the question is innocent enough she can't hide the hurt tone in her voice and it bends him apart, to something that can't be repaired, just because it is his own fault.

"I-I-I'm sorry, I did not mean to leave without—"

She shakes her head, which makes his last word fly away. "No. I don't need this. I don't need this last evening to be ruined by confused feelings. I want it to be like it has. You know how, when you feel like crawling out that shell of yours. Listen, I have ideas. Can we watch a movie tonight? After, there's a place I would like to show you. I'd love to have dinner with you but I have a challenger at the gym at that time. Is that okay with you?"

Black nods. He can never say no to her. His strange behavior doesn't scare her, that's why he finds her so amusing. His other friends ignore it, pull a sheet over the black hole but she doesn't. She gives him time, even when time isn't anything they have.

He will miss her. In more than one aspect.

—I—

Skyla's taste of movies doesn't differ too much from girls' in general—hot boys, romance and sex—but she surely knows how to make him involved in it. As she lets the video load she pops popcorn in the microwave and gives him time to analyze her house. He is rather surprised that she already lives alone, since she can't be older than he is, but at the same time she surely knows how to take care of the place. The decoration is tasteful, not too much, not too little, but still has the personal touch that makes it feel like her own.

It is probably the first time he doesn't feel uncomfortable in a girl's house. And probably the last.

While Skyla munches on the popcorn and gets big, portal eyes as the movie moves to a more exciting pace, he has time to think. But not all the time, as she throughout the film asks him questions that are of that subject it feels okay to answer them.

"I'm sure you know this but I am more of the cute kind when it comes to boys," she suddenly tells him and he breaks contact with the television, looking at her. "Players can be fun to see from a distance but I don't want to be involved with them. They are no good."

"Why are you telling me this?" he asks, not unkindly and snatches a popcorn from the bowl.

She shrugs and hugs the bowl closer. "I don't know. I talk too much, don't I. But listen, even though I love romance—doesn't everyone love romance—I don't have many relationships to brag with."

"Well, I'm sure you got more than me," he says before he can't stop himself and the casual tone he has makes it impossible for her to take it like a sign that he wants pity. He was lucky this time.

"It will never be like in the movies though. I mean, their worlds are not real. It can't be that way. We don't have perfect relationships, we are not perfect, we don't choose who we fall in love with. It is sad, but still maybe not. I don't know, but it still makes me wonder why we—well, girls anyway—are so fascinated with this perfect romance. It doesn't even exist."

Black just stares at her, at her pretty eyes, at her wisdom. He knew it from the start but this is proof—she is not an airhead. She knows what she does, she knows what she thinks. Most of all, she knows what romance can be.

It makes him glad. Almost too glad and he doesn't know what to say as the film moves onwards until the credits roll and they both have grown comfortable with the silence.

"To be honest I don't even remember the film," Black says and smiles a little, surprised that it actually works this time.

She smiles too, wide and clear and his core twirls again, harder than ever. "I'm not surprised. I'm more interesting than a stupid film, aren't I? Gosh, Black, you are so easy to embarrass! But right! There's something I wanted to show you. Come with me!" she chimes and offers his hand and while his blood does its best to torture him to death he takes it and lets her guide him out of the house, to the city, to the sky.

Her warm fingers around his almost make him melt.

—I—

With their hands locked she takes him to another sea, but it is different this time—this sea is empty, untouched, pretty. There are no waves on the surface, no one, and the only sounds that can be heard are from the pokémon further up the pond. He can feel the warm sand through his sneakers, it is pleasant. She lets go of his hands as they reach their destination and right now, at this moment, now—it feels like he will fall apart into one million pieces.

This is good-bye.

No. It can't be. He tries to smile but it doesn't work, his lips are stiff, unwilling. It is the last time.

"I never told you that those shoes really suit you," she says to the air and points at his shoes.

He follows her finger and looks down, too, even though it is more to avoid than to face. "You helped me with them so it is not a surp—"

He feels one hand on his shoulder and another around his cheek. He freezes, mentally scowls that he didn't bring his jacket, as his plain, black shirt does nothing to keep the warmth from her finger on a level he can handle.

This is too sudden. This isn't true. It can't be.

But does he want this? He doesn't know. Perhaps. Maybe. No, yes, well, it depends.

He feels himself get interrupted as he feels her lips on his, slightly, then more close—they are warm, warm like her.

Black has never kissed before and he never thought it would be like this. Of course he didn't know what he awaited, but it was not this. This is… okay. More than okay. Enjoyable. He melts with her, slowly, and lets her take over—it is better that way. But there's also something more in there, in the kiss, not a promise, but something.

Ignoring is easier than he thought, he thinks, and places his own hands in her red hair, feeling how soft it is, how soft she is. And warm. So warm. He feels one of her hands playing with his hair, the other trailing down his right cheek.

It is not a passionate kiss. It is more than that. So much more than that.

"That was sudden," she whispers as her hands slide down his arms, settle around his hands. "Wasn't it?"

"Definitely," he says, with a voice much softer than before.

"Listen to me, it isn't as it seems." She smiles as she says this, but it is a sad smile, and tears foam in her eyes. "I can't say I love you. We don't know each other. Not that well. But I—I like you. Please understand that. I don't wanna stop you from going, but… don't disappear. Can you promise me that?"

Now the word arrives again. Promise. But this time—maybe he can?

"I-I don't know, Skyla. I don't understand this. But—I'm gonna try. I'm sorry but I can't change myself."

"No," she says. "Don't. I don't want you to change. You are you. No one else."

He nods and she drops his hands, lets them hang. She smiles again, this time with tears down her face, before she turns around and lets her boot walk through the sand.

You are you.

She understands that.

_I don't want to lose her. _

—I—

to be countinued


	4. Chapter 4

AN: Really sorry for updating so late. This is a sort of filler-chapter, which means (GASP) that the story isn't over. I don't know how many times I've said that, but I don't want to end this.

Also, I'm not going to deal with the Team Plasma-business so much. They don't fit in this story.

Lastly, thank you all for reading this story. I'm glad if you liked it. Please tell me if there are any mistakes in this.

* * *

><p>[4]<p>

Does life change? Sometimes. It depends on what you do with it. You have options—it is up to you to use them.

Black knows what he has left behind but he also knows that it will remain there. Even though guilt is a guest that never leaves his side—feeling guilty is too easy sometimes—he understands that Skyla is not the one to wait for him to return.

Not in that way. It is still too new. She will not throw in the towel to her own dreams, that is not her style, it is not her.

He can't either, Black reasons for himself, watching the badge casket, noticing the seventh badge resting there, telling him that even if he feels something for Skyla, she can't be his whole life.

Love is not like that, not in his world. In his world, he has friends and doesn't know how he got them. His inability to be carefree makes him limited, and now he has started to understand how grateful he should be for what he has.

In fact, he could have none. He does not.

He has many.

—I—

Along Route 8, he gets a call from White.

She tells him where she is—the same route as him—and if he wants, could he wait for her?

He could.

White, Black reasons for himself when she finally arrives, is not someone that waits for the treasures, she grabs a map and searches for it herself. She is so independent, so strong, so willing, that he would be surprised if she couldn't beat the Elite Four.

"Hi," she greets before stopping in front of him, her massive ponytail pointing out from her head. It has been such a long time but she will always be the same.

Maybe that's the reason he likes her so much.

"Gosh, the road sure is muddy here," White says and lets a tiny laugh escape from her lips. "And I thought we could have a picnic or something. It has been far too long."

"I think a restaurant is a better idea," Black tells her and points ahead, at a small building crowded with fancy cars and green trees. "I don't know the quality of the food but—"

"C'mon," she smiles and gently hits him in the shoulder, "don't think too much. You don't have to."

No, he doesn't have to.

But he still does. It's hard to break a habit.

—I—

White has the unique ability to make a lunch last for hours and despite this being a regular occurrence it still manages to clearly surprise Black. While using her fork and knife to gesture, she tells him what she has been up to. He sighs a little in relief, she plays for safe, he can live with that. Listening is something he can, it's easy and often rather enjoyable—it's when the spotlight aims for him the car is starting to drive down the cliff.

Which, of course, is exactly what happens next.

He really shouldn't be surprised, this is White after all, this is how she is. That doesn't mean he doesn't wants a hole clawing up from the floor and eat him whole when she starts to use full force—aka questions—about his personal life.

"You know I'm not stupid, something has happen there in Mistralton," she grins and dips her spoon in the strawberry cake she has ordered for desert. She really has an addict to sweet things. "And I'm not going to let you escape from here without you telling me about it."

He coughs in his palm. "I—It's nothing."

She lifts the spoon. "I guess we will be sitting here for a while."

Sometimes, he wants to squish her under his shoe like an insect. "White…"

"Don't you think I know you? I know that you're not the most social type around. I know you haven't really had a real relationship with a girl—" Walking around the problem is not her style "—but that doesn't mean it will never happen. Tell me. I promise not to tease you."

Black lets two sugar cubes plop in his coffee in order to buy a little time for his answer. "That's not true, is it?"

"Touché. But tell me anyway."

On one side, he really doesn't want to tell her. On the other, though, he wonders why it feels so damn hard to gossip. It's not because he's a guy, there's more complicated than that. It's because who he is, his life has been a secret for mostly everyone, for being quiet and bland, he didn't need to take the punch from broken promises and jealously and social misunderstanding. But still, is that what he wants? He can't change himself, but he can change his dreams.

"Er, okay," he starts carefully and tries to look her in the eyes, "there's someone."

He still wonders how the hell White could see that so easily. Is it because she's his friend, or it is because girls can do that by habit?

It's probably the latter. He always blames the latter when he doesn't understand.

"Stop fooling around and get to the tasty stuff. Who is it?"

"Er, well—" Gosh, his cheeks are burning "—d-do you remember the gym-leader in Mistralton?"

Her lips curl into a naughty grin that makes him feel rather uncomfortable—if he isn't enough uncomfortable already. "So, Skyla, huh?"

"Yeah…"

"How did this happen?"

"Okay, if I should be honest, I don't really know," he tells her honestly. "God, this sounds so wrong, but it was Skyla that invited me to… different activities."

"And you liked it?"

"I guess I did. But it happened so fast… I don't know. How can I be certain?"

White digs up more fluffy cream on her spoon and brings it to her lips. "Want me to be honest with you?" Rather unnecessary question since she always is. "You can't."

He puts down the cup and can't prevent a high wave of disappointment from rising to his chest. "I can't."

If it is something that scares him, it's to be uncertain. Being uncertain means losing control and losing control means (in his world) falling to pieces.

He doesn't want to break.

"But hey," she continues with an assuring smile and tilts her head to the right, "that doesn't have to be a bad thing. I think… Black, I think you are too afraid of everything. It's hard for me to explain your personality for you but as far as I know, I think you're scared of people because you don't know how to handle them. You think you have to be a specific way in order to make them accept you. But that's not true. I like you, don't I, and I know you fairly well. Not everything about you but that is to be expected. Skyla likes you because you are you. You have friends and they are not going to leave you. Skyla isn't going to leave—"

"I left her," he says, soft like a whisper, "to continue my journey."

"That's not the same thing."

"It isn't?"

"No. Think, Black. It was not wrong of you to go. You want to do this journey, don't you?"

He merely nods, not wanting to spill out his idiotic doubts at the moment.

"See? And she understands this as well. What the hell is wrong, then?"

"I don't know, White, I'm so confused."

"It's okay, Black, it really is. Take your time. Don't stress too much. Remember, there's one thing you need to sort out."

"What?" he asks and watches her carefully lean over the table to get closer to him.

"Do you really like her or do you like what she did to you?"

—I—

After a long and warm goodbye hug and promises to keep track on their different progresses along the badge-run, she runs farther up the road and leaves him with his thoughts. In fact, despite probably not even being fully aware of it, White has said something that refuses to leave him alone.

Skyla. Does he like her. Likelike her?

Why aren't there any keys to these kinds of problems? He so wishes to know. He so needs to know.

There's no one he could ask. The only one that _can _know is him. It's his feelings and his alone. Skyla is his responsibility and he will do everything to try to do this _right_.

If only he knew how.

Instead of trying to get closer to a solution he ignores it altogether and presses down his doubts in the mud with his shoes.

—I—

The last gym-leader—Iris—is one tough nut to crack. Her biggest achievement in her battles is her ability to surprise her opponents. She uses different strategies that alone seems completely out of space but together, in reality, it's a link that she has been aware of all along. She is young but fully competent, just like Bianca told him once after she watched a battle Iris had with a Plasma grunt.

The thing is, this only wants him to win more.

At times he thinks this journey has been too easy for him. As long as he can remember, this has been no challenge. Sure, he lost, sure, he made mistakes, but it still followed a circular pattern that made it impossible for him to think of new strategies. His enthusiasm for this has never been as high as for his friends and it makes him sad, because, he wants to feel complete. He wants to have something. But now, as he sits here in the pokécenter and waits for Nurse Joy to come back with the status of his pokémon, he knows that the fault is his own.

He has prevented himself. He never listened to what he wanted and that's one reason why he today is so confused. Everything that came in his way was an obstacle. But that was before. He has to focus on the now.

On what he wants. And right now he wants two things.

The last badge and keep contact with Skyla. The last has not slipped his mind, he still thinks about her. He has to try. Not only for her but for him as well.

Black has to chase his dreams, not run away from them.

—I—

At last, he has the badge in his hands.

"Wow, you won at last," Iris says and giggles softly, crossing her thin, suntanned arms over her chest.

"You are strong," he says honestly, which surprises him, as compliments are not anything he is familiar to give (or receive.)

He has it now and it feels good. It actually feels good. It feels.

Somehow, Black loves to feel.

It is so foreign.

—I—

Black is nervous again. Very nervous. So nervous his blood coils inside him and heartbeat escalates in an irregular pace.

He is about to call Skyla. He knows he is the one to do it. She has always taken the lead, but in order for this to work, he has to be involved as much as she is.

That doesn't mean he can be calm about this. It is a little strange, acting like a schoolboy with a stupid crush, but like White told him over the phone yesterday—every pace in life is not positive. Live is not always jumping around on pink clouds, reality is harsh and brutal, although in the end, there's hope too.

_Alright, let's do this. _

First, he tries to call her home number. The signals seem to echo in an eternity, disappearing into thin air, but still no reply. Maybe she's still at work? Being a gym-leader does not give you much free-time to play with, he remembers Skyla mention one time.

Still, it feels a little wrong to bother her at work. Oh, come on, he scolds himself, you are trying to escape out of his spider's web, aren't you?

Too bad, Black, but that's not an option anymore.

He gulps for air a little while and tries to steady his irregular breathing before pressing down the number to Mistralton's gym. It takes about three seconds before he hears a burry voice in the other end.

"Mistralton's gym here. How can I help you?"

_Er. Well. Ehm. _"I would like to speak with the gym-leader, please," he manages to blur out before the nervousness started to fill him to the limit.

He can hear a sigh but chooses not to think about it. "Is it important?"

"Yes," he lies. "It is."

A pause. "Alright. Wait here a minute." How come some people sound so rude when they talk in a phone?

As he waits for Skyla to reply it feels like he's going to burn up from the inside.

He feels for her, oh, he does. Skyla doesn't leave him unaffected, he knows that now at least. Awesome.

Crack. A soft voice. "Hi. How can I help you?"

"Um, it's me…Black."

Silence. He can almost see her gulp. Then a, "oh, hi! God, I'm a little surprised! How are you?"

"I'm fine," he replies, not really in the mood for safely talk. "I have all the badges now," he tells her anyway, as that's probably something she wants to know.

"That's great! Not that I doubted you would. The only obstacle you had was yourself."

As always, she has found out the truth much faster than he had. "I guess. I know that myself know. But before I forget, how are you?"

"Oh, I'm good, thank you. A little busy. It's like every trainer in Unova chooses this week to challenge me, I swear. At this rate, I can start to bring my sleeping back here too."

"I don't bother you now?" he has to ask. He hates bothering people. Another flaw he has to work on.

"Not at all. I don't have any more challengers today."

"I see." Why is it so hard to keep a conversation afloat? What's wrong with him?

You can, you can, you can. "Black, can I say something? Please don't take it the wrong way, I don't mean anything negative with it, but I have to tell you that I didn't think you would call me."

"I can understand that," Black quickly says, because he really can.

Skyla laughs a little. "The whole time, it feels like I've forced you with my company. I know you say that isn't the case, but I don't know. I actually feel a little ashamed for what I did back then."

"Don't," he says, which actually both sounds and is the truth.

"Thank you, Black," she says and he can hear her smile. "I'm glad you called."

"I've learned… some things," he starts and twirls the cable around his finger. "That… ehm, I want to be your friend."

"Black?"

"And—" This is so hard to say "—I'm glad I meet you, because, you help me."

"Help you with what, Black?"

"I don't know. Accept myself. I never have."

"I know that," Skyla says softly and for some reason he wishes she was here. "But you don't have to worry. I can wait. You need your time to accept what we did. Maybe I need it too. I never really listened to you back then, didn't I? I'm sorry for that. I just thought that was what you needed and, well, that's a part of my personality. I don't think things through. Now, though, I know something—that you are willing to try for me."

He can't say a word.

"We can try," Skyla tells him. "Love is complicated and we can't be sure that this is love. But it can be, you know. Don't give up. This makes me happy. I like you."

"I l-like you too," he stutters, which isn't something he is used to say, not directly.

"Gosh, our conversations always sound so corny if you think about it. Heh. But anyways, one thing before I have to go; remember that time when I ask you where you did aim?"

"Yeah?"

"Silly, the sky is not high enough. You can get higher. Aim for the stars. Listen to yourself, I can't do that for you."

Listen to yourself.

What does he want?

Really want?

Does he want to be the champion of Unova? _Not really. White wants that. _

The thing is, Black thinks he already know what he really wants.

—I—

to be continued


End file.
